Bridge of Letters
by libellule2016
Summary: When Cristina decides to go to Zurich, Owen knows that their relationship was over, so he rejoins the army to accompany Teddy on her next deployment and to fulfill his calling. But right before Cristina heads to the airport, she tearfully confessed to Owen that she wanted them to keep trying, even if it were long distance. Can their love reconcile their differences and unite them?
1. Chapter I - Give Me One More Chance

**As ever, I don't own anything. Reviews are strongly appreciated! Hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!**

* * *

 _Dear Owen,_

 _By the time you read this, I will have arrived in Zurich. I'd like to imagine that you'll be reading this letter and thinking of me, as I think of you, on the other side of the world. I'm trying to picture your reactions as I write each line, and I suppose I'll spend many midnight hours, lying awake in bed, fantasizing about the way you might, in my head, reread these lines after a long day of surgeries and perhaps they might even make you smile. I will smile in return if you do, though I won't see you, though I won't be physically in your presence - I will know, somehow, and I will respond. Of course, I will cry too, no doubt, where I know I cannot be seen. And I will hope that, that way, you won't have to shed any tears, though I know, even now, no matter how much I wish I would never have to hurt you, that a small part of me would be selfishly hoping that you're also crying on the other side of the world, not because I want to cause you pain, but because some parts of me wants you to miss me._

* * *

Owen sighs as he lays down the piece of paper. He blinks, and though his vision becomes blurred, he does not cry. Not because he isn't allowing himself to, but because he doesn't feel the urge. He must be too numb to cry, he tells himself. Reality mustn't have settled in yet. He would cry when he is ready, when the time comes.

And yet, a part of him feels as though he cannot cry because he is hopeful. He tries to banish the hope, knowing that it is futile - more than that - it is dangerous. Ever since he heard the news of Cristina's impending departure, Owen had immediately jumped to the worst conclusion - that Cristina was choosing her career over him - over _them_. And why would she choose any differently? Owen had always known, though he refused to believe, that they would be torn apart sooner or later, that their love, however strong, was not the healthy and wholesome kind. Instead, it was the burning kind, that kind that consumed the space between them in an instant, but that continued to gorge its way through them until it slowly corroded through their veins like acid. Yes, Owen had always known that she would leave him, someday. He had known this ever since the day she offered to trade him for his best friend - no, not his best friend - her mentor, her Cardio God.

It is no wonder, then, that the only conclusion Owen came to when Cristina informed him of her decision to leave the country was that it was over between them for good, that Cristina had moved on, that she was happy - happy without him. There simply was no other plausible alternative - Cristina was a surgeon above all else. After weeks of coming to terms with this eventuality, the final goodbye came as a complete shock and opened floodgates of hope that washed away some of the fear but also threatened to break the barricades he had painstakingly constructed to block the depths of his feelings for Cristina from completely destroying him.

* * *

 _If you're reading this now, then I guess I must have told you that I wanted us to keep trying. I've debated with myself for weeks on end whether or not to tell you this, knowing that it might cause you even more pain than I have already if this goes wrong. But the more I thought about it, the more I knew that it was the truth, and the more faith I had in us. It was a shock to find out that you were going back to the army, and I cannot help but feel that I had a role to play in your decision. But I also cannot help but know, as much as I want to deny it, that this is probably for the best. You've been unfulfilled here, and there's always been a part of you that I could never reach, a dissatisfaction that I could never cure. If you feel like you haven't fulfilled your calling, then I guess I should be glad that you're returning to the place where you feel that you make the most difference. And I am - glad, that is. Or at least, I'll try every second of every day to convince myself that I'm glad. I'm glad that you'll work with Teddy again, that it'll just be you and your best friend in the familiar Iraqi dessert. As much as I hate to admit it, Teddy gets you in a way that I never could, and she can fill that void that I could never fill. I'm really happy for you, Owen. And I'm really, really grateful for Teddy. I will fear for you every day, so that you need never be afraid. I will pray for you, in case you forget. And I will miss you every single hour, not knowing where you are and if you're alright. This has not changed - only, now I know that this is what you need. Sorry I wasn't ready to see this the last time you talked to me about going back to the army - all I could think about then was keeping you as close to me as I could._

* * *

When Owen heard of Teddy's new job offer with the Army, he called his former commanding officer immediately. A few minutes later, he was scheduled to deploy to Iraq on the same flight. An hour later, he had told Cristina. She had told him that she would support him. Owen asked her why she had changed her mind - the last time he had broached the subject of returning to the army, she had been so strongly set against the idea that he never dared bring it up again. Back then, it was fear for Owen's safety that made Cristina adamant to the point of anger at his mere suggestion. _I don't want you to die_ , he remembered her saying. So naturally, Owen feared that Cristina had moved on, that she no longer cared enough about him to want to keep him alive. That supporting Owen's decision to go back to the army was her way of letting him go, definitively. Though when Cristina told him when they said goodbye that she wanted them to keep trying so that Owen knew this was not the case, he is beyond relieved to find out the true reasons behind her change of heart.

* * *

 _But I'm serious about wanting us to keep trying - of course, if you're up for it, that is. Which is why I've done something that I would never have imagined myself doing under any other circumstance. I've written you this letter, and many, many others, because I wanted you to have something of me other than a memory when you're over there in Iraq. In this box, you'll find fifty-two envelopes, one for each week of your deployment. Each contains a letter, from me to you. I'm cringing right now at how cheesy this is, and many a time have thought about crumpling this entire project and tossing it in the garbage so that I'll never be reminded of the embarrassing thing I had almost done. But in the end, I did it anyway, because I believe in us, and I guess also because it will bring me happiness to know that I'll continue to be in your life, in some form or other. So I hope that you'll bring this box with you when you leave, but if you'd rather not be reminded of me, I'll understand that, too. Either way, please don't feel obliged to reply or acknowledge my letters in any way - the comfort of knowing they are with you and that you're reading them will be more than enough for me. After all, I will be running a hospital on the other side of the world, so you can count on me to find enough work to keep myself busy and distracted._

* * *

In the last few days, Owen had felt as if each time he saw Cristina - be it from a distance or in sharing a passionate kiss - it would be the last. Though he was grateful to be proven wrong time and time again, he must admit that prolonging the goodbye was far from easy. Each time, he would reconcile himself with the belief that he had lost Cristina forever, that he was never, _never_ , going to see her again, only for her to burst back into his presence once more. But the one time that Owen had been _sure_ that he would never see her again was when she stared at him through the viewing area of his OR, her expression of a thick, tortured chagrin. Owen had finished that operation with shaking hands and a spinning mind, barely making it through without fainting or crying. By the time he had scrubbed out, he knew that Cristina was already on her way to the airport. Except she cornered him again in an on-call room, her mascara-streaked eyes fiercer than he had ever seen them, her arms clinging to him as if never to let go.

It was then that Cristina had told Owen that she didn't want _them_ to be over, that she wanted to keep trying, no matter what. _You were done a long time ago_ , Owen had said, exasperated and so, so tired. _What's the point? It'll only hurt us both more._ Cristina told him that she wasn't done, that as long as he continued to love her, then she was not going anywhere without a fight. She said that there were things that they both would not give up for each other - Cristina would not give up surgery, and Owen would not give up his loyalty to his country. She said that they should both be able to chase that one thing that means so much to them, but that they shouldn't let it tear them apart. Owen desperately wanted to believe her, but he was wary of the other reasons that had driven him to so decidedly conclude that it was over between them. He tried to remember them now, but, utterly drawn into Cristina's vision, he could not. _We have our differences,_ Owen managed. _Differences that cannot be reconciled. It would never work in the long term._ Cristina told him that the times had changed since their last marriage, that _they_ had changed. That what she had so firmly believed back then had started to bleed into a blur of uncertainty. She told him that she wanted a life, a _real_ one, when this was over - when they were done chasing their respective dreams. She told him that she may even want to have a child - with _him_ \- that her prior aversion to having children was because she had never yet met anyone she loved enough to want to have a child with. She told Owen that _he_ was the one she wanted to have a child with, some day, if he would wait. And Owen, all of his dreams handed to him on an irresistible, yet he knew to be fantastical, platter, finally fell silent and wrapped his arms tightly around the love of his life. When their lips found each other, they tasted the salt of each other's tears.

 _I'll think about it,_ was Owen's final answer.

* * *

 _We're older now, more mature, and we each have a better grasp of our goals in life, what gives us purpose, what we wouldn't give up, and what we would. You have a dream to chase, a calling to fulfill, and it is on another continent, with another person. I can't help you with this dream - but I can at least give you all the support I can for you to pursue it. I am all pursuing my dream now, and I find comfort in the thought that you would be fulfilling yours at the same time. But Owen, these dreams don't last forever, and when they fade - which they will - the only constant will be the fact that we love each other, and I am sure of this. So that's why I want to try again, and that's why I've done all of this for you. I hope you'll at least think about it - it would kill me to see what we have be lost._

 _I hope you'll call me soon, and often, at least so that I know you're safe. But if you'd rather not, for any reason, I'll understand too._

 _With all my love,_

 _Cristina_

* * *

Owen has to read the last few lines over and over because tears blur his vision more quickly than he can blink them away. But when he is sure that he has not missed a single word of Cristina's heart wrenching note, he numbly folds the piece of paper up and places it back into the envelope it came in. When he arrived home from the hospital after his goodbye with Cristina, the last thing he expected was another reminder of her presence, and yet the first thing he stumbled upon was this plain envelope with his name written in her familiar hand. Underneath it was an unremarkable cardboard box.

Owen gently cradles the box in his arms and carries it to his bedroom, now understanding the extraordinariness of its contents. He would not open it today, he decides. He has had enough drama for one day, for one lifetime… But he would think about Cristina's request, he knows. He would think about it all night long.


	2. Chapter II - A Still Beating Heart

**CHAPTER II - A STILL-BEATING HEART**

* * *

Cristina knows that it had been a bad idea to leave the letters with Owen. The three previous days, she had been so determined, so sure that it was the right thing to do, that she wrote all fifty-two letters with hardly a pause in between. Her determination lasted until she said her final goodbye to Owen, and jumped into a taxi to deposit the letters at his house before heading to the airport. On the journey to Owen's house, her determination began to fade, quickly, until when she finally arrived there, she wanted equally to set the box on fire and crawl into the dirt in shame, as she wanted to carry her plan through and leave it where it would be sure to be the first thing that Owen sees when he comes home.

In the end, it was the thought of all her efforts in carrying out the project that made her deposit the box in a safe corner of Owen's front porch and run back to the taxi before she could change her mind. During the whole journey to the airport, she squirmed in embarrassment at this corny, cheesy thing that she had done and wished she could bury herself in sand and never emerge.

When she arrives in Zurich, the first thing she does is check her email. No messages from Owen. She expects as much, but cannot help but be disappointed anyway. She would give Owen time. He will be deployed in just three days - he must be focusing on his preparations. It's not because he doesn't want her, Cristina tells herself. He just needs time to process everything.

Tomorrow, Cristina starts her new job, for which she is grateful because it would allow her to take her mind off Owen. But today, she has the entire afternoon ahead of her with no responsibilities to distract herself with. She surveys her new apartment, already furnished in a remarkably similar style to the apartment she had occupied so many years ago, when she had been with Burke. Burke has a remarkable memory, she realizes. He had been the one to organize her accommodation for her, prior to her arrival.

It does not take long for the decor to bring back painful memories of earlier, emptier days - days without Owen. Days where neither decor nor tidiness mattered - where few things other than surgery ever entered her thoughts. The style of her apartment no longer describes her now, and she feels a strange yearning for the warmth, the brightness, and the slightly eclectic atmosphere of Owen's apartment. She decides to do something that she has rarely ever done and never out of her own free will - she goes shopping.

When she enters the huge department store, she heads straight to the bedroom section and picks out four pillowcases in a comforting shade of pale, washed-out blue. They are the colour of Owen's eyes when they first open in the morning and look lovingly into hers, making her world click instantly into place. She pushes her cart towards the quilt covers, and lingers on the light yellows and greys before giving up and selecting a deep, midnight blue set. It is the colour of Owen's eyes at midnight, glinting in the light of their alarm clock, when either of their pagers went off. He would always wake up up even when it was Cristina's, to kiss her goodbye. Cristina decides that their - _her_ \- bedroom would be blue.

She picks a set of sheets the colour of cerulean - the colour of Owen's eyes reflecting the rays of the operating lamp as they lock with hers in the middle of an exhilarating surgery. She also picks out a glass vase for her nightstand in the brightest, boldest sapphire - the colour of Owen's eyes when they made love in on-call rooms, glistening with the love that he knew he need not articulate in order to envelop her. Though she has always hated flowers, she surprises herself by selecting a faux rose to place in her new vase - the most vivid red, the colour of Owen's love expressed in the petals of the first flower he had ever given her - on their very first date. The final item she selects for her blue room is a painting of the immense ocean with a lighthouse in the corner, the deep blue sea blending seamlessly into the azure sky. It is perfect, she thinks. She likes it because the lighthouse, unlike in most paintings of the style, is not the centre of the painting, but is part of the background, illuminating the ocean. The waves are the colour of Owen's cadence as he tells her he loves her. The sky is the colour of his cool breath against her neck as he leans in to whisper the words in her ear.

She decides that one room is enough for now. She heads towards the check-out counters, but is stopped by a familiar hand on her shoulder.

"Cristina!" she hears Burke say. " _Cristina,_ shopping for furniture? Are the furnishings in your apartment inadequate?"

"No, no." Cristina counters quickly. "The apartment is very nice. Thank you. I just wanted to pass the time and get something a little more familiar. I've left a lot behind in Seattle." Burke watches her eyes grow sombre as she looks down to avert his gaze.

"I'm sorry to hear that," though Burke is curious as to what she could possibly have left behind in Seattle, he dares not ask so directly. "I trust that your flight went smoothly?"

"It did."

Did Burke imagine the catch in her throat as she said this? He senses that now is not the time to interrogate her further. "I'd better let you get going, then. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? I leave tomorrow, and wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to catch up with you."

Burke had not planned on dining with his ex-fiancée. He had known that it was a dangerous thing, the risk of rekindling the all-consuming passion he had felt for her all those years ago. But the more that he talks to her, the more he is plagued by the suspicion that what she has left behind in Seattle is another man.

"Okay," Cristina replies hesitantly.

* * *

"So… May I ask what his name was?"

" _Is._ His name _is_ Owen Hunt. He's a trauma surgeon. He was in the army, in Iraq, but then he came to Grey Sloan. And now he's back in the army."

After much probing, Cristina has finally admitted that she had another man in her life. Burke is surprised by the intensity of the jealousy that he suddenly feels. "How long have you known him?"

"Five years." _Though it feels like I've known him all my life - all that matters happened after I met Owen,_ Cristina wants to say, but does not.

"How did you meet?"

 _He burst into my life in the dead of night, in the heart of winter, a flame so bright that it eclipsed everything else._ "He came into the hospital one night after a car accident. He had helped treat the victims." _He had also pulled an icicle out of my body, and melted, with one kiss, the icy splinters in her heart that Burke had left behind._

"Are you… Married?"

"We were, for two years." _And it took a murderer and a plane crash to end our marriage. It's just a suspension - not an end. Our marriage is merely suspended._

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

Burke can still see glimpses of the girl he once loved and nearly married, but she now exudes a brighter, warmer glow, and he suspects that it is because of Owen. He suddenly envies this stranger of a man, for touching Cristina's heart in a way that he never could.

"Do you have any pictures?"

Cristina opens her wallet, and Owen stares at her from her photo-ID slot. It is their wedding photo, the two locked in a passionate embrace and smiling warmly into the camera with her head nestled in his chest. She usually kept a different photo, since the divorce, but she placed this one back in when she unearthed it at the bottom of a drawer when she was packing her apartment in Seattle. She hands her wallet to Burke.

"He sure is handsome, and you look beautiful together."

For the first time this night, indignation flashes in Cristina's eyes. "He's much more than handsome." _He's the bravest, yet gentlest soul that has ever walked this Earth. He's the warmth that lights up her life, the glimmers of joy that peek, even now, through the darkest clouds. He is the love of her life._

Burke looks into Cristina's eyes, and sees the depth of the feeling there. She looks like she is about to cry. The jealousy flares again, deeper and more consuming than before. He averts his gaze, trying to contain his emotion, only for his eyes to fall back on the picture of Owen Hunt. In the lines of his face, the softness of his blue eyes, the ruggedness of his features, Burke can see why Cristina fell for Owen.

"He must be a good man."

"He is," Cristina agrees, her words more servant than usual. _He's so much more than that. How I wish he would talk to me._

* * *

On the way home, Burke is plagued by the memory of Cristina's wistful eyes. He has gathered, from their conversation, that something about this man - Owen - was bothering her deeply. Burke cannot allow himself to develop feelings for this woman again, which is why he is leaving the next day, minimizing his interaction with her. But he still has enough feelings of friendship and respect for Cristina to feel an intense anger at any man who dares hurt her. He is going to have a word with this Owen Hunt.

When Burke gets home, he dials Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital. It has been so long that he has to look up the number on the Internet. The voice that answers is unfamiliar.

"This is Dr. Preston Burke," he says. "I need to speak to Dr. Hunt."

"I'm sorry, but Dr. Hunt just left a moment ago and will no longer be returning to this hospital."

"Can you get him for me," Burke pleads. "This is very important."

Maybe it is the urgency in his tone, or maybe it is his lasting reputation at the hospital, but for whatever reason, the receptionist concedes. "Hang on a moment. I'll try." she says.

Owen must not have gone very far, because it is only a few minutes later when the line reconnects. "This is Hunt," a slightly annoyed voice utters through the line.

"Hello, Dr. Hunt. This is Preston Burke."


	3. Chapter III - Art of Never Letting Go

**CHAPTER III - THE ART OF NEVER LETTING GO**

* * *

 **"** **Trauma is about saving lives, but the saving of lives is not measured by the number of wounds plugged or the number of bullets extracted - it is measured by the number of dying wishes honoured, the number of dying soldiers treated with dignity, the number patients' names learned and remembered."**

* * *

 _Dear Owen,_

 _The most important thing you taught me about trauma surgery is its intimate and complex relationship with time. At the beginning, I thought it was just a race against the passage of time, which was the ultimate enemy of a trauma patient. You plug every bleed, trying to stop time from sucking a life dry - you tie off every exposed artery of a body full of holes, trying to stop time from pumping blood around because in trauma surgery, time is the purveyor of death. You told me this on our first date, so I knew, from the beginning, that it was important. You also told me that trauma surgery was quick and messy, that there was no time for mistakes - that when you made mistakes, people died. This was even before we knew each other, before my life had started. Mistakes are a journey, a learning process, and yet you were already warning me that in trauma surgery, this journey was deadly._

 _But over time, I think you've taught me that time was not merely the enemy - it was also a great ally. And until you treat it so and start going with time rather than opposing it, you have not truly mastered the art of trauma surgery. You focus all your attention on plugging the holes in a body, and you don't let time reveal all the other holes that you missed, until it is too late and the person behind that body is gone. I think we've been making the same mistake all this time. We keep trying to stop time, to work against it, to turn back the clock. At the beginning, when you first started working at Seattle Grace, we tried to live in a time when you hadn't met me, when you hadn't pulled an icicle out of my stomach, when you hadn't kissed me, and loved me. That drove us apart, because we treated time as the enemy. When pretending we didn't know each other didn't work, we tried to rewind time and live in a place where you hadn't choked me in your sleep, and when that created problems, we thought it was once again over between us. "Take care now", you'd told me, instead of what you wanted to say - what I needed you to say. And then we got married, fighting the passage of time that led to my close encounter with death, because we thought that union would erase the trauma of a mass murderer. When that didn't work out, we divorced, as if that was going to erase your memory of living in fear that I was dead._

 _Owen, we tried to patch up our wounds time and time again as if we were nothing more than a trauma case. But people are more than trauma cases - your body full of holes was also a person who could feel gratitude to you for saving his life and a depression so deep that it made him take his own life. I'm done patching up our wounds, Owen. I'm done being nothing but a trauma case. And I feel that you are too. Which is why I want us to stop fighting time, to stop trying to revert to a bygone time, no matter how great a time that was. I want us to work with time rather than against it. I want us to build on the space between us, the time between us, to create a better future together._

 _By the time you read this, you'll have already gotten to Iraq. I hope that your first week has been safe and fulfilling, and that Teddy is taking good care of you. I hope you'll think about what I've said when you treat your next trauma patient - though I don't know anything about combat, I have come to realize that surgery, like the will to live, is the same everywhere. You might not use the same tools or follow the same protocols, you may not have the same priorities, but in the end, it is always about saving lives. Not just from the physical injuries, but also from the patients themselves, and the patient's families. Sometimes, it means holding on and refusing to let go, like plugging a wound while waiting for help to arrive. But sometimes, it means resigning and letting nature - letting time - run its course, like the time your truck exploded and you lost a good friend, or like the time Teddy honoured a patient's wish to die. Because the beautiful thing about nature is that it can be deadly, but when the trauma is passed, it is the best source of regeneration. Time is the best tool for healing. And I truly believe that with us, the worst of the trauma is over, and we should let time heal us rather than resisting its passing and trying to take our lives back to a time that no longer exists. If you still love me, and I trust that you do because I know that I will still love you, then I know that we will find each other some time, and all the pain and hurt that have stood in our way will be worth it._

 _Take care of yourself, Owen. You and Teddy take care of each other. I'd be happy if you could pass on my regards to her, but will understand if you'd rather not._

 _I love you,_

 _Cristina_

* * *

Owen reads Cristina's second letter from start to finish in one sitting. He arrived in Baghdad yesterday, and though he was busy settling down and reminiscing with Teddy over their shared stories in these fields, as soon as night fell, he reached for the small cardboard box from Cristina and opened it for the first time. Inside, were fifty-two plain white envelopes, as Cristina had promised. The one on top said, " _To Owen - for when you first arrive in Baghdad"_. The rest had dates, each a week apart. He couldn't bear to open the letter then, because the mixture of happiness at reconciling with Teddy and the pain of separation from Cristina was giving him a headache. Also, it was cold and damp and dark, and he didn't want to associate that environment with the love of his life.

So Owen waited until morning - he reads the letter as soon as he wakes up. He still hasn't spoken to her since they last said goodbye, not because he doesn't want to (he desperately wants to hear her voice, especially in this cold desert), but because he knows that he would want much more than that if he allows himself to break the silence. While reading the letter, he cannot help but think about his unexpected conversation with Preston Burke.

* * *

When Owen first realized that it was the ex-fiancée of the love of his life on the line, he went though a dozen responses in his head, none of them particularly nice. He wanted to accuse Burke of stealing Cristina - _twice_ \- the second time more definitive than the first. He wanted to shriek at him for making Owen race all the way back to the hospital, when he had already said goodbye. He just wanted an enemy he was justified in hating, to bear some of his pain.

But he had said instead, "Hello, Dr. Burke. What a surprise to hear from you. I trust that you are doing well?"

It was Burke who shouted at him. " _How dare you do this to Cristina?_ "

"Do what?" Owen replied. He knew what Burke meant - him not talking to Cristina, him joining the army. So she had told him the story. _Of course she had_. But he wasn't going to let up so easily - as far as he was concerned, he was the victim. It was Cristina who abandoned him first.

A hesitation on the other line. "Um… I'm not sure," Burke stammered, no longer shouting. "It's just that Cristina was extremely upset, so I knew it must have been something to do with you. She wouldn't tell me what was wrong, though if you really know her, then you shouldn't be surprised."

So Cristina had not told Burke. Owen immediately regretted his earlier thoughts - Cristina wasn't like that. She didn't want to be pitied.

"I'm sure she won't be upset for long," Owen replied, still slightly acidic - he hadn't forgiven Burke for stealing her away. "What with the irresistible job you gave her, I'm sure she'll get real busy soon enough. you know what she's like when she gets working - everything else stops mattering to her."

"Yes," Burke replied. "She was like that before, when I last knew her. But she's changed - there's more to her than work now. I think work has stopped being the centre of her world, and I think this change has something to do with you."

Owen's heart had warmed at Burke's admission. It was nice, despite his jealousy, to talk to someone who had known Cristina in the before, who noticed how much of a difference he had made in her life.

"Anyway," Burke continued. "I'm married with two kids, so it's not like I can just abandon them to help Cristina. Given our history, Cristina's and mine, I don't think my family would be too understanding. But I still care about her. The way I loved her was all-consuming, and it's left its mark on me ever since. It hurts me when she's upset, and I know, what with her personality, that it's not your fault, I can't just stand by and watch her suffer. You know what's going on, I'm sure. You need to fix this. You need to make her happy. She's chosen you, obviously. I'd like to believe that you're worth it."

Owen was torn. "I don't think I can anymore. The way I love Cristina has destroyed me, and it continues to destroy me everyday. It's as if I build myself back up only so that she can destroy me again. I don't think I have the strength to keep going with her. I'm sorry, I just - "

"Owen Hunt," Burke interrupted. "You don't need to tell me what it's like to love her - I know. _I know_. But I also know that Cristina saved me, from a meaningless life, from day after day of tedium. I'm sure she's had a similar effect on you. If she isn't worth all that to you, if you won't fix this, then _I_ will. It won't come lightly - I do have a family, after all. But if you don't take good care of Cristina, then _I will._ "

* * *

As Owen reads Cristina's letter, he knows that he now has a competitor. Cristina had told him that she loved him more than Burke - she had clearly chosen him. Hell, she had married him. But it had been Burke who had made her an offer that she could not resist. So Owen knows that he has limited time. He goes into the main army quarters and picks up a phone, ready to dial Cristina's number. But he cannot do it. He simply stares at the phone and loses track of time, until, in the distance, a voice calls out his name.

"Hunt!" Teddy shouted. "Dr Hunt, where are you?"

Owen shakes his head and stands up but does not move. The voice, and footsteps, get closer. "Owen! There you are. Hurry! We have injuries coming in!"

* * *

 _Trauma surgery. It's quick and dirty._ Owen struggles to stop the blood from gashing out of the soldier's wound. Rationally, he knows that the man is not going to make it - if there had been other wounded soldiers, Owen would have left this man and tried to save the rest. Army protocol dictates: save the one with the highest chance of survival, first.

But there are no other patients in need of attention. Two wounded soldiers had been brought in, and Teddy is working on the other as it is a cardiac trauma. So Owen decides that he is not going to let this man - the first soldier he treated in in to many years - slip away from him. He continues to fumble around for any tools that might be of help, hardly noticing that the man is awake and has just slightly opened his eyes.

"Doctor," the man croaks. Owen does not hear him, because he is busy improvising a tourniquet out of the fabric of his uniform. The man knows that he is not going to make it, and he is at peace with his fate, except for one more thing that he needs to do.

"Doctor," he repeats, louder than before. "Will you - " but the doctor has just run out of the tent, to get more medical supplies, he assumes. He opens his eyes as wide as they would go, and pictures his wife and children so that he would not fall asleep. Because he knows that falling asleep would be fatal.

When the doctor finally returns, armed with an array of unrecognizable solutions and metal and plastic tools, he tries again. "Doctor, there's something I - "

"Sir, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were awake! My name is Major Hunt, and you're going to be okay." Owen does not look at the man even as he speaks to him, as he is busy unpacking his new supplies.

"Major Hunt," the man repeats. "Can you tell - "

But he is cut off again. "I need you to open your mouth wide for me," Owen instructs.

The soldier knows that there is no point, that no matter how skilled a doctor this Major Hunt is, he is not going to be able to save his life. "Wait," he tries to say, but Major Hunt's hand is pressed firmly against his chin, pulling his jaw down so he cannot speak.

 _Damn it,_ Owen thinks. The soldier has internal bleeding. He would have to check for the source. He scrambles away from the man and furiously starts cutting away at his uniform.

"Major Hunt," the man tries again. "I need you to - "

"You have internal bleeding," Major Hunt replies urgently. "Don't try to talk."

"I'm n-not going t-to m-make it," the soldier tries to say, his breath labouring under the effort. "Can you t-tell - "

"Don't you dare say that," Owen shouted back, interrupting the man yet again. "You _are_ going to make it. Don't you dare give up hope." The all too familiar desert scene from that night so long ago flashes once again in front of Owen's eyes, that night when he had let his friend die. He is angry at this man for wanting to give up, for putting him, once again, in the position not to save lives, but to waste them. All the while, Cristina's words tug at his train of thought, but he dismisses them. This is no time to think about his personal life - he is working, and every second counts. He grabs another bandage and presses it to another wound. The man screams in pain.

"Please, Major Hunt," the soldier pleads. "Stop, and let me die. Just can you please tell my - " but Owen is not listening. He is struggling with the bandage because it would not hold. Blood continues to gush from the wound, soaking the fabric. He places his knee against it, applying pressure with his own body. With his other leg, he reaches for his bag. He remembers that he had a few alligator clips in there, to hold together some photos that he had brought. He turns the bag upside down so the contents would fall out - he has no time to search for the clips - and the item that lands on top of the pile is Cristina's opened letter.

… _I think you've taught me that time was not merely the enemy - it was also a great ally. And until you treat it so and start going with time rather than opposing it, you have not truly mastered the art of trauma surgery. You focus all your attention on plugging the holes in a body, and you don't let time reveal all the other holes that you missed, until it is too late and the person behind that body is gone…_

Owen turns back to the patient, who is now spitting blood through his lips. Though he is no longer bleeding from the wound that Owen is covering with his knee, blood is gushing through the other wounds on his body that Owen had dressed earlier. The man looks indescribably weary, but Owen can see him fighting to keep his eyes open. There is a light blazing there, and he knows that it is because the man has something to say. Broken from his frantic streak of patching up wound after wound, he also now knows, with absolute certainty, that the man is going to die. He knew it all along, but has just been too slow to accept the inevitable.

"Sir," Owen whispers in the man's ear. "What is it that you would like me to do for you?" He has now turned to wiping the blood and sweat off the man's face, so that he can at least experience a little more comfort in the last seconds of his life."

"T-tell my w-wife," he croaks back, choking on blood. "Tell m-my w-wife t-t-that… that…" and the man stops moving. His eyes, still open, glaze over. His lips are frozen mid-sentence. Owen knows that it is too late.

 _I hope you'll think about what I've said when you treat your next trauma patient - though I don't know anything about combat, I have come to realize that surgery, like the will to live, is the same everywhere. You might not use the same tools or follow the same protocols, you may not have the same priorities, but in the end, it is always about saving lives. Not just from the physical injuries, but also from the patients themselves, and the patient's family._

Only now does Owen fully appreciate the force and piercing clarity of Cristina's words. Trauma is about saving lives, but the saving of lives is not measured by the number of wounds you plug or the number of bullets you extract - it is also measured by the number of dying wishes honoured, the number of dying soldiers treated with dignity, the number patients' names learned and remembered. As this man lay before him, Owen realizes that not once has he asked for his name. _The body full of holes._ And now, another nameless soldier who has fought for his country and sacrificed his life but whose name Owen would never know. A soldier who spent his last moments in great pain, with a doctor who didn't even ask for his name. A doctor who wouldn't pay attention to his dying wish, until it is too late.

Unwittingly, Cristina has, by is example, become much smarter than him. Throughout all those years, Owen had been the one holding onto their relationship, and he wished, so very much, that the love of his life would make an effort too. Now that his wish is answered, he does not know how to feel. He would try to let time decide, like Cristina wants him to. Tomorrow, when he has recovered from today's loss, he would call her. He would tell her that yes, he, too, wants to keep trying.

But as he looks to Teddy working on her patient opposite him, eyeing him worryingly as tears stream down his face, Owen realizes that Cristina is no longer the sole tenant of his heart. Numbly, he wipes away his tears and goes to help Teddy with her patient.

* * *

 **A/N - Thank you so much to everyone who left reviews; it really makes my day when I read each one! Please do continue leaving reviews - it makes me so happy! Please also leave any suggestions in reviews - as I'm having a better idea of where I want to go with the story, I would really appreciate any guidance.**

 **Also, as the first few chapters are now done, I plan on posting two new chapters every week, to match the chronology of the story. The odd chapters will be from Owen's perspective, each one featuring a letter from Cristina. The even chapters are from Cristina's perspective. Perhaps as the story progresses a little more I'll start adding in more chapters from the perspective of other characters.**

 **If you're enjoying the story please consider following, as I'll be posting chapters frequently!**

 **As always, thank you so much for reading!**


	4. Chapter IV - Waiting for You

**CHAPTER IV - WAITING FOR YOU**

* * *

 **"** **How she wishes that** ** _she_** **could take care of Owen the way Teddy can.** ** _She_** **should be the one there with him.** ** _She_** **should be the one consoling him after a loss or coaxing him gently to talk about a harrowing memory.** ** _She_** **should be the one who can kiss all his nightmares away. Such is, as Cristina realizes, the flip side of compassion - tyranny."**

* * *

It has been ten days since Cristina last heard Owen's voice. He hasn't called once since she left for Zurich, and though she has prepared herself for this eventuality, she cannot help but cry herself to sleep every night, snuggled into a ball on the same side of the bed as the one she occupied when she was with Owen, so that she would not have to face the empty space next to her. As of today, Owen will have spent a whole week in Iraq. She hopes that he is finding his fulfillment there, and that he is enjoying his time with Teddy. Though she knows that Teddy is the person Owen needs right now because she understands his mental struggles in the army, she cannot help but let her own heart fill with jealousy and a gut-wrenching helplessness. How she wishes that _she_ could take care of Owen the way Teddy can. _She_ should be the one there with him. _She_ should be the one consoling him after a loss or coaxing him gently to talk about a harrowing memory. _She_ should be the one who can kiss all his nightmares away.

Such is, as Cristina realizes, the flip side of compassion - tyranny.

Cristina's work also suffers as a result of missing Owen. Each time her phone rings, she would jump and quickly pull out her phone, only to be disappointed that it is not him. Her disappointment sometimes seeps through her answering hellos, and she has been asked multiple times if she has been alright, sometimes by strangers. This is very unprofessional, as Cristina realizes with shame.

Because of the time difference between Iraq and Zurich, Cristina has begun to sleep with her phone on, at full volume, so she would never miss his call. Often, she would be woken up by emails, alerts, texts, and the occasional phone call - none of which from the man she wants to hear from. Her sleep has thus been truncated by the buzz of her phone, punctured by dreams and nightmares of her love's adventure on the other side of the world. In the Blue Room, she takes comfort in bathing herself in reminders of Owen, but she has to admit that it hurts.

It has been ten days, and Owen still hasn't called. She must do something about it, or she would keep waiting forever, and her work will deteriorate. She sighs. Her phone rings. She jerks upright and grabs her phone out of her pocket, the action having become almost involuntary from having been repeated so many times. It isn't Owen, but rather than shake her head with disappointment, this time, her eyes widen in surprise. It is a familiar number. She answers.

"Hello, Cristina," Burke's voice greets her. "I was wondering if you'd like to go to dinner with me this evening."

"Uh… I thought you left a week ago?"

"I did, but I haven't gone very far, Cristina. I'm only an hour from Zurich. I'll pick you up at 6?"

"What about your family?"

"It's just dinner, Cristina. Do you want to go or not?"

"Well… Er…" Cristina is uncertain. She knows that _dinner_ can turn into so much more, because although she has little lingering feelings for Burke, she is vulnerable at the moment and she suspects that Burke still has feelings for her. But it would at least be a distraction from Owen, a distraction that she knows she needs. Owen hasn't called her for a whole week - he would call her when he is ready, and he would not if he isn't. Cristina knows that she needs to give Owen as much time as he needs, and that she has hurt him, again and again, many times when they had been together. She knows that he is tired and weary and confused, and that he is probably just happy to be back in the army, where everything is familiar and less complicated, where he can rediscover the easy friendship he once shared with Teddy. If Cristina wants it to work between her and Owen, she knows that she needs to give him more time.

Little does Cristina know that Burke indeed plans on turning the dinner into more when she hesitantly says, "Okay."

* * *

"Cristina," Burke says at the restaurant after they order. "You've changed so much I hardly recognize you."

Cristina shrugs. "I've gotten older." _Change is what happens when you meet the love of your life and then lose and find him over and over again,_ she doesn't say.

"It's deeper than that," Burke replies. "Before, you were so focused on your work, your goals. All you needed was surgery to make you happy. Now, you're upset and your new job isn't doing anything to help your situation. You have different priorities now."

"Yes, my priorities have changed." Of course, Cristina still wants to win a Harper Avery, and she still wants to become a Cardio God. She wants to be a world-renowned surgeon, but now, she realizes that she wants it all with Owen by her side.

They eat their dinner in silence, Burke acutely aware that Cristina's attention is elsewhere. Throughout the meal, she throws furtive glances at the families at the restaurant, at mothers wiping food off their children's mouths, at fathers ruffling their sons' hair. She does not see herself like that now, but she knows that she would want it eventually. She imagines sitting next to a little girl with Owen's eyes, a little girl who would call her Mama. And when the plate in front of her is empty, she glances up and sees a different man in front of her, a man from her past.

"Shall we?" Burke asks quietly, standing up and taking her hand. It is an unexpected gesture on his part, and Cristina is once again afraid that their meal meant more to Burke than it did to her. Gently, she disentangles her hand from Burke's under the pretence of needing both hands to hold her purse and jacket. But Burke knows the significance of her action nevertheless.

When they say goodbye, Burke wraps his arms around Cristina in a warm embrace, and feels her stiffen when he presses his lips against her forehead.

"Keep me posted on your research," Burke finally manages to say. "And do you want to do dinner again some time next week?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea," Cristina replies without an ounce of hesitation. "You have a family." _And I have one too - I have a family in Owen Hunt._

 _"_ Alright. Have a good evening."

As Cristina takes the elevator up to her apartment, her thoughts are only for Owen. She wonders if he has read her letter, and if he has treated any patients yet in Iraq. Because she is thus preoccupied, she does not see Burke stare after her, does not see his eyes shift from an expression of pained compassion to one of longing and fierce determination. As Cristina turns her key in the lock of her front door, she does not know that Burke has gathered all the information he needs - that Owen Hunt, despite his warning, has not called Cristina - and is going to try to win her back.

As she slowly drifts off to sleep, she does resolve, however, that though she would not give up on her fight for Owen Hunt, she would not allow her feelings for him to compromise her performance at her new job.

* * *

 **A/N - Thank you so much for all the reviews! Thanks for your views on Cristina ceasing to be the sole tenant of Owen's heart in the last chapter - I know how you feel and his uncertainty/inconsistency in the show frustrates me to no end as well, but I felt that his feelings for Teddy were never really resolved between him and Cristina and that was something that needed to be done for them to move forward. Hang in there though, as I can only imagine this making them stronger.**

 **This is also a shorter chapter, I've realized, but I've got some longer ones planned for the coming week, as the story starts picking up pace.**

 **As always, thank you so much for reading, and please leave reviews! I love hearing your thoughts and suggestions :)**


	5. Chapter V - Take Care Now

CHAPTER V - TAKE CARE NOW

* * *

 _Dear Owen,_

 _For the month after my father died, I kept thinking of all the things I hadn't gotten around to doing with him. Though my surroundings remained the same and I quickly settled back, by necessity, into a routine similar to the one I followed before the accident, everything seemed new and foreign because I was never again going to be able to share it with my dad. I'd cross a street to visit the new coffee shop, and dwell over the fact that my dad would never taste it. I'd accompany my mom to do grocery shopping, only to think about the way I would never be able to cook a meal with my dad. It was the little things that stung the most; the big things - my dance recitals, birthdays, graduation, college, getting accepted to med school - were less meaningful to me._

 _Now, I cannot help but feel the same way about you - the same sense of dread leaking from my fear that I would, for a whole different reason, no longer be able to do these simple things with you. It's the same fear I felt the last time you spoke about going back to Iraq, when we'd first gotten to know each other all those years ago. Except back then, I only feared for your physical safety, because no part of me thought it possible that anything other than death would tear us apart. I can't help but let out a few tears at the thought of how far we've gone astray over the years - how we could possibly have gotten to this point, a point where we have all but resigned ourselves to part ways after wasting so many of the last years we should have had together. All those years, we constantly pushed each other away in the false yet stubborn belief that doing so is better for both of us._

* * *

"Major Hunt?"

Owen glowers up from the paper in his hand, his features a twisted mess of rage, confusion, loneliness and despair. His interlocutor shrinks back in surprise when he takes in Owen's expression, but he quickly recomposes himself and salutes Owen professionally. In the army, each soldier knows about the plight of all, and their readiness to offer support to their comrades in times of need is key to the mental wellbeing of everyone. But in times of emergency, as the soldier who has come to summon Owen knows, one does not enquire about personal grievances.

"Major Hunt, one of our reconnaissance aircrafts has had to perform an emergency landing on rough ground. We've lost communication, but suspect casualties. We need you on the rescue mission, Sir, leaving immediately."

Owen reflexively stuffs Cristina's letter into his pocket, slings his supply pack over his shoulder, and follows the soldier as they break into a jog together. By the time they board the plane, Owen has completely banished all thoughts of Cristina from his mind, focusing single-mindedly on his mission. He takes the first available seat he finds, without glancing up to see Teddy's eyes follow him onto the plane with worry etched deeply and clearly into her pupils. She unbuttons her seatbelt to change to the seat next to him.

"Owen," she begins gently. "What's troubling you?"

"Nothing," he snaps, finally gauging her presence. "Stop distracting me from my job."

"There isn't anything you can do right now," she reminds him soothingly. "We have no information on the status of the reconnaissance crew, or what they might need." Owen's hardened features remain frozen, glassy, rigid. "So unless you plan on helping fly the plane, you're stuck here, with me," Teddy adds with a strained laugh.

Teddy knows that underneath Owen's facade he is in a pain so deep that she can hardly begin to fathom it. What he has been through over the last decade, she can only begin to imagine. She herself had also suffered loss - first with Owen and then with Henry. But Owen was never hers to lose in the first place, and Henry was but a whisper through her life, there and gone in a heartbeat. She, unlike Owen, had never lost her other half, her anchor to this world, the love of her life.

But at the beginning of their tour, he had been happy - what changed? Teddy knows that Owen has been angered, exasperated, and horrified by the war, but now, he is different - it almost appears as if he is _grieving._ It seems to have begun when Owen lost that patient in the first week, but he'd lost many patients before and none had affected him so badly. What's more, this patient had been hopeless from the very moment they brought him in - his injuries had been so severe that it would have taken a miracle to save him. Owen knows this, so why is he so upset?

Perhaps he is grieving Cristina, now that it is definitively over between them. But it had been his choice as much as it had been hers, and then again, he had seemed fine when they first arrived in Iraq. In either case, as Teddy stares into Owen's piercing blue eyes, trying to discern there an inkling of an answer, she realizes that she must give him time to grieve over whatever loss is plaguing him. She also knows that she needs to stay close, and that she would endure however many days and nights of his brooding and negativity as necessary - it's the least she can do to repay him for all those years of friendship. She squeezes Owen's arm with one hand and, as the plane's doors begin to close, she silently slips out of the seat next to Owen's and returns to her own.

Realizing that Teddy is right and quickly losing his will to resist the temptation of stealing a few more moments with Cristina before what would surely prove to be a gruelling mission, Owen retrieves the piece of paper he had stuffed into his pocket earlier that morning.

* * *

 _It is for this reason, out of this fear, that I've written into this letter a list of some of the things I want us to do together, that we haven't done already, so that while I'm in Zurich and you're on the other side of the world, we can have something to look forward to when we're together again. They're mostly little things, which, as I've said, I find sometimes more meaningful than the big milestones. So here we go:_

 _I want us to go away somewhere in the countryside one night and look at the stars together. They're so permanent, so bright, so vast: the one constant that endures through immense intervals of time and space. I wish we'd done that before, so that we could pick out a star that would be ours. So that if we are ever apart again temporarily, we can each look at that star and remember each other's presence. Stars are also the universal symbol of destiny, and we were meant to be. It would be nice to have some perspective, something bigger than you or me or the hospital or our differences, something that would remain constant wherever we are in the world and in our lives._

* * *

But were the two of them really meant to be, Owen cannot help but wonder. Their love had been strong and fierce and tenacious and gnawing and - as much as it frightens him to admit - permanent. But love, however powerful, has a limit. He cannot help but imagine, bathed in the narrow rays of light that flickered into the aircraft, that their love had been as a splint lit fleetingly in the dark. It coughed, spluttered, and then burned bright as to eclipse the darkness - and then, inevitably, it would go out. He had been so vulnerable when Cristina had come into his life - had he used her as a crutch to fill the emptiness in his heart and called it love for so long that he couldn't help but believe it? He misses Cristina terribly, but, even blinded by this love, he can guess at the tortuous journey ahead if he departed from the safe, weathered road he is now on.

The plane touches down, and light floods in through the opening aircraft door and bounces off a single tear on Owen's cheek.

Led by Teddy, the team runs towards the fallen aircraft. "Come on," Teddy shouts over the whirr of the propellers. "Quick. Move! We don't want to lose anyone."

Owen settles into the familiar pattern of following orders, of digging one foot after the other into the desert sand, of not having to think, to make decisions. Instead, he marvels at the ease and authority with which Teddy shoulders her new responsibility - it is the first time that he has worked under her leadership. As they near the aircraft, Teddy begins again. "Craig, Martin, you're responsible for the captain, Major Samson. Stabilize him if necessary and then bring him to the rescue plane as soon as you can."

"Yes, Ma'am." The men reply in unison.

As Teddy continues to assign responsibilities, Owen realizes that she knows everyone on the team by name despite the fact that they were put together in a hurry just this morning, and that she has taken the time to ascertain the names of everyone on the reconnaissance aircraft. If she were to tell the story of today at a botched date in five years' time, she would not refer to her patient as the "body full of holes". Owen sighs, hearkening back to the anonymous patient he had lost the week before, whose name he would never know. Teddy shows her comrades so much more respect than he has ever been bothered to, and because of this fact alone, she is a better leader than him. He has a lot to learn from his best friend.

"Major Hunt, you're with me. We need to get to the pilot, Jones. Let's go!" Teddy signals for the them to split up, and the team promptly disperses, each attending to his task. Owen alone continues to run straight ahead, lost in the abyss of his thoughts.

"Hunt!" Teddy calls again, yanking his sleeve. "Concentrate. We're going this way," she bears left and motions for Owen to follow.

* * *

 _I want us to make a bonfire - maybe toast marshmallows, but mostly, just to enjoy its warmth on a cold Seattle night. I've always loved the comfort of languid, flickering flames, and the slow crackle of firewood. I just want us to savour each other's presence, the slowly diminishing flames a constant reminder that it is not infinite. I wish we had remembered to replenish the logs, rather than just expect them to burn on forever out of their own volition. So many times we let our relationship deteriorate because we believed that love alone was enough to keep it going - so many times we just gave up and didn't put any effort into keeping_ _us_ _alive. I want us to never be so careless again._

 _I want us to go see a movie together - a mindless movie, one picked at random without having any idea as to what it's about. A little surprise, gift-wrapped onto the end of a busy but predictable week. I want us to laugh together and groan together and hold our breaths together in anticipation - I want us to experience together something at once new and familiar, something that is not surgery, as much as we both love it. I want us to do something that we can enjoy and just forget afterwards, but that may also stay etched into our minds. I want to hold your hand in a darkness lit not by alarm clocks or pagers or operation lamps, but by a story that we get to watch and judge rather than have to live in._

* * *

When Owen and Teddy return to the plane, Teddy instructs him to monitor their patient and promptly leaves to survey the rest of her team. The patient had suffered extensive injuries, and though they had done their best to stabilize him with the supplies they carried, Owen still feared for his life. "Stay awake," he instructs his patient when the latter closes his eyes.

After ascertaining that they hadn't left anybody behind, Teddy rejoins him and secures herself into the seat on the opposite side of the patient. She informs the pilot that they are ready to take off, and the plane falls dim again as the doors close and they lift off into a muddy sky. "Stay awake," Owen shouts again, shaking his patient, when he sees him close his eyes again.

"I'm so tired," the patient protests.

"It's dangerous to let yourself fall asleep now," Owen reasons frantically. "You may have suffered head injuries - you have to stay awake if you don't want any permanent damage." Teddy places a hand on Owen's shoulder, motioning for him to stop.

"Do you have family, Sergeant Jones?" Teddy asks.

"Yes," the patient replies. "A w-wife, and two daughters."

"What are their names?"

"M-my wife is called Katherine, and my daughters are Alice and Danielle."

"Such lovely names. How old are they?"

As Teddy continues to ask questions, the patient becomes visibly calmer. He has stopped complaining about being tired, and he begins to smile, animated, and speaks in a much stronger voice. Owen watches, fascinated and slightly ashamed of himself. He is a skilled doctor, as skilled as Teddy, but Teddy is a much better one, because she understands that being a doctor is about more than just medicine. All he had known was to shout at his patient to stay awake; she had known how to do it with subtlety and respect.

* * *

 _I want us to go to a museum together. You like art and history and literature, and I don't, so we've never really talked about doing it. But I would have liked to discover your hobbies, and I would have wanted to listen to you talk about them. We have so few things in common except surgery, so we've struggled for so long to look for similarities. We've zeroed in on the few things we're both interested in and blown them so out of proportion that we're both tired. Instead, I would love us to acknowledge our differences and embrace them - because with our differences, we complement each other and make each other whole. So I want us to go to your favourite museum, and I want to hear all about why you love it so much._

* * *

Back at the base, Teddy and Owen begin to treat their patient's injuries, which turn out to be more extensive than they had feared. No matter what they try, he continues to bleed.

"I feel faint," the patient whispers.

"I know, Sergeant Jones." Teddy tries to comfort him. "Just hang in there, think of your wife and daughters."

After another hour, the patient speaks again. "I-it hurts," he moans. "I can't stand it. L-let me die."

It is déjà vu, for every army doctor but especially for Owen. But for the first time, Owen does not have to make the decision; instead, he contents himself by making his presence as inconspicuous as possible and continues to treat the patient's wounds, listening intently to what Teddy has to say.

"You don't mean that," Teddy replies, gently, comfortingly. "Think of Katherine, staying with your children and looking forward each and every day to your return."

"It hurts so much," the patient repeats.

"Think of Alice and Danielle. If you can't find the will to live for yourself, then find the will to live for those you love. Alice starts seventh grade this year - you don't want to miss her graduation. And Danielle - would you not want to live to witness her eighteenth birthday in just three months' time? You don't want to see her off to college? Don't you want to celebrate your twenty-third anniversary with your wife, when you go on leave in just two weeks?"

Remarkably, Owen senses no break in Teddy's concentration. Not once does she falter, not once does her scalpel tremble, not once do her hands hesitate as she continues to close a wound. Owen realizes that when she had talked to the patient about his family on the plane, she had remembered every detail - the names, the birthdays, the things that meant the most to this man that they had met just hours ago. She had not been merely calming him, keeping him awake - she had cared enough about the patient to note the details of his life. No, if Teddy were to recount today's mission at her next date, she would speak of Sergeant Jones, with his wife whom he had been married to twenty-three years and his two daughters, one of whom was going off to college and the other just about to graduate elementary school. She would never, _never_ , have to talk about a body full of holes. Owen feels like he has learned more about being a doctor in this one day than he has in all the years before.

"I-if I don't make it," the patient continues after a while. "Will you tell my wife and children that I love them?"

Owen is about to assure the man that of course he would do it, when Teddy spoke before him and uttered a firm "no".

"You are going to tell her that yourself, Sergeant. Do you think, if your wife loses you, that she would want to hear these words from some random doctor in uniform who would just remind her of you? Do you think she'd want to know that, in the last moments, you just gave up and resigned yourself to death, and wasted time trying to tell her something she already knows rather than fighting to stay alive and for the chance to tell her yourself every day for the rest of your lives? Think of your children - they deserve a father, or at least a father who died fighting. You cannot give up now, you cannot think about death now."

Owen watches his patient blink back tears, and then blink furiously against the blackness that threatens to swallow him. He turns his gaze to focus on Teddy, who is looking calmly at the wound she is sewing shut. Her face betrays no emotion except a fierce concentration. He turns back to his own work. After another hour, they finally manage all of the bleeding.

"Go ahead and sleep now," Teddy whispers to the patient. After thanking her for saving his life, the patient gratefully closes his eyes. Teddy calls the nurses to take care of their patient, and quietly, she and Owen exit the room.

* * *

 _The more I add to this list, the more I regret not having done so many of these things during all those years we had together. We had our moments in on-call rooms and in ORs and in our apartment and in the fire house, but we were both working so hard and there are so many other things we haven't gotten around to. There's no point regretting the past though, so I'll instead concentrate on a future, a future that I hope can be with you._

 _I miss you and I love you and I hope to hear from you again very soon,_

 _Cristina_

* * *

"How do you decide," Owen whispers to Teddy. "How do you decide when to ask a patient to keep fighting and when to let them go?"

"You always tell a patient to keep fighting. If they listen, then they haven't really given up. Because if a patient has given up, nothing you say will make them change their mind. In that case, you let them go."

"I learned a lot from you today, Teddy. Thank you, ever so much."

"It was my pleasure," she says to her best friend.

"You make a phenomenal leader. I've forgotten how incredible a doctor you are."

Teddy just smiles and looks straight ahead, trying to ignore the catch in her throat. She had forgotten what it was like to work together with Owen. She had forgotten those days they scrambled side by side to save a patient, those nights when the emergency alarms would sound and they would convene together on the cold, wet grounds. Back then, they had been equals or he had led her; now, she has to lead him and his compliment lifts a bit of the pressure on her shoulders.

"I'm only as good a doctor as you have led me to become," she finally replies. "You taught me first."

They continue walking in silence, each savouring the other's companionship and reliving the day's work in their own minds. They would glance at each other often, and when they catch each other staring, they would break into a small smile. By the time they have to part ways to go to their respective living quarters, Owen's arm has found its way around Teddy's shoulders and Teddy is leaning her body into Owen's for support.

"I'll see you soon," Teddy looks up at Owen and grins. She makes no attempt to unravel herself from under Owen's arm, waiting for him to let her go. He looks down at her with an unfathomable expression. How easy it would be to just lean down and press his lips against hers. He knows that no explanation would be necessary - she would understand. He never needs to explain himself to Teddy; she understands him perfectly. They have been through everything together - they have both suffered equal amounts and have built themselves up with the same uniforms and the same blast surgeries and the same hot Iraqi sand under their feet. They also want the same things - family, loyalty to their nation, companionship, stability, children - they would be able to make each other whole without having to tear themselves up first. He knows that with Teddy, it wouldn't always be one chasing the other and the other hurting with guilt over it. It would not be one making all the sacrifices and the other always pulling away. It would be a healthy, wholesome relationship. But he also knows that, before he can allow himself to do this, there is something else that he has to do first.

Owen wraps his other arm around Teddy in a tight embrace, and kisses her softly on the forehead. "See you soon," he smiles back at her.

They part ways, but instead of going to his living quarters, he goes to find a phone. His uniform is still bloodstained from the last surgery, but he doesn't care. He dials Cristina's number, knowing that it is the middle of the night in Zurich and hoping that it would go to her voicemail. He holds his breath until he hears the automated voice tells him to leave a message.

"Cristina, it's Owen." He pauses, realizing that he has no idea how to say this. All those times, it had been Cristina ending the relationship, never the other way around.

"Look," he finally manages. "It's not going to work between us no matter how much we want it to. We've tried too many times. I think it's better if we don't try to contact each other anymore. Bye, Cristina."

Owen hangs up and feels his heart fill with dread. Numbly, he returns to his room and retrieves a fresh uniform before heading to the bathroom. Under the heat of the shower, he begins to imagine a future with Teddy. He imagines the two of them returning to the US after their service and settling down somewhere in the suburbs, buying a house and shopping for furniture together. He imagines them having children and picking names in bed over a morning coffee. He pictures transforming the guest room into a nursery, Teddy as enthusiastic about the project as himself. He imagines three children with his ginger hair and Teddy's beautiful hazel eyes, playing together in the front garden. But as the hot water begins to run out and the steam in the shower fades, he realizes that as much as he tries to imagine a future with Teddy, what he is actually seeing is a future without Cristina, and what a bleak, empty future that is. Teddy will forever be his best friend, a phenomenal teacher, and a woman he had once loved. But she can never be Cristina.

It had not been Teddy whom he asked to staple shut the wound on his leg without anaesthetic. It had not been Teddy whom he found sprawled in front of the hospital entrance with an icicle in her stomach. It had not been Teddy who bought them a firehouse because she understood that he needed it. It had not been Teddy who operated with a gun to her head in front of his eyes to save the husband of her best friend. It had not been Teddy whom he had believed dead for days. It had not been Teddy who asked him to try again after he asked for a divorce. It had not been Teddy who wrote him fifty-two letters after they said goodbye.

It hadn't been Teddy all those times in the past, and it is not Teddy now. It is not Teddy, he realizes, that he wants a family with, and all those other things. Without Cristina, he would not want to serve his nation. It had been Cristina who gave him a purpose, a mission in life, who made everything meaningful. And it is because of Cristina, he now knows, that he continues to find meaning every day. It is Teddy who taught him how to care for his patients, but it Cristina who taught him to _want_ to. Abruptly, he turns off the shower and slips into his fresh uniform as quickly as in an emergency drill.

He dials Cristina's number again, and is relieved that it goes to voicemail once more. This means that she hadn't woken up yet and heard his last message.

"Cristina," he whispers into the phone. "Cristina, I'm sorry."

This time, he does not need to struggle for words; they pour out from the hidden recesses of his soul.

"What I said in the last message, I didn't mean it. I was upset and confused because I'm back here in Iraq where I haven't been for years, and I lost a patient last week and, through my own fault, couldn't fulfill his dying wish. Cristina, I want us to keep trying, too, and if you think it can work, then I believe you."

He pauses to swallow the tears in his throat and takes a few deep breaths to slow his heartbeat.

"I've been reading your letters. I'm so, so sorry it's taken me this long to respond. It's not that I didn't want to talk to you - it's one of the few things I _do_ want - it's just that I've been thinking really hard about this, _us_ , because I didn't want to call before I was completely sure that it wouldn't do more harm than good. I'm sorry if I hurt you by waiting. All those things you said in this last letter, I really want to do with you too. Know that I will treasure, as I have been treasuring, each and every letter that I read. When all this is over, I really, _really_ hope to be able to make everything up to you and show you how much I love and treasure you, too."

"If you still want me, after everything, please, _please_ , call me back. I really want to talk to you." Owen gives her a number to call, and tells her that though he can't promise to always be able to answer because of the nature of his work, he would try his very best, would call her back as soon as he can, and would always be thinking of her.

"I love you, Cristina." He whispers through his tears. "I can't wait to hear your voice."

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! Please review!


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